


don't make no fuss (it's christmas)

by bettycooopers



Series: twelve days of barchie [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, God Bless Us Everyone, archie is drunk, betty can't cook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:33:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28253205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettycooopers/pseuds/bettycooopers
Summary: It’s a known fact that Betty Cooper (soon-to-be Andrews) isn’t great in the kitchen – which is why, when Betty announces that she’s making Christmas dinner, Archie gets a little nervous.
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper
Series: twelve days of barchie [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066289
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	don't make no fuss (it's christmas)

**Author's Note:**

> day three! engaged barchie is hosting christmas day, what could go wrong? 
> 
> as per ushe, thank you to the intelligent half of my brain, [becca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/packedyoursaturday), who is slowly but surely making archie andrews a hockey stan. 
> 
> see you all tomorrow! 🥰

Betty Cooper (soon-to-be Andrews) has a lot of skills. She’s a wonderful storyteller, an accomplished mechanic, and an expert crossword puzzle solver. She is typically _good_ at things, but the one skill she really can’t master is cooking. She’s _tried,_ too. She’s taken cooking classes, tried at-home meal kits, read cookbooks, and had her mother’s help...but she just can’t seem to _grasp_ it. 

Archie _can_ cook – which is good for her, in a lot of ways. He _likes_ to cook, so he doesn’t ask her to help much. It doesn’t really help with her learning, but she’s pretty sure they’ve both given up on the idea of her ever being an expert chef. She can make cocktails, and bake on occasion...that’s enough.

It’s a known fact that Betty Cooper (soon-to-be Andrews) isn’t great in the kitchen, though – which is why, when Betty announces that she’s making Christmas dinner to celebrate their first holiday in their new house, Archie gets a little nervous. “Babe,” he chuckles, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pressing his face against her neck as she stands at their bathroom counter, applying eye cream, “you know you’re supposed to ask me first,  _ before  _ you volunteer me to make an entire Christmas dinner for our families, right?”

Betty frowns at him in the mirror. “Of course I know I’m supposed to ask you,” she says, her voice even. “I...I would have asked you, if I were volunteering you.”

Archie lifts his head, pursing his lips. “I’m not following, Betts.”

“I’m  _ cooking _ , Arch. I’m...I’m going to...cook dinner. You know, for Christmas.” She frowns when Archie can’t help but laugh, close to her ear. “What’s so funny?”

“Betts, we just moved into this house. I can’t have you burning down the kitchen yet,” he kisses her neck gently, keeping his eyes off hers in the mirror. “I’ll do it, you know. If you want me to, I’ll cook.” 

Betty pinches his arm and he pulls it away from her, frowning. “That’s rude, Archie,” she huffs, shaking her head. “It’s a  _ dinner,  _ what could possibly be so difficult? A turkey, some...potatoes,” he looks up at her and places his chin on her shoulder, watching her gesture wildly. “It’s not rocket science.”

“For some of us,” he mumbles, and he kind of deserves it when Betty elbows him in the ribs.

She lets him help her with the menu – a turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and a tray of Christmas cookies – and do the shopping, but on Christmas morning, she kicks him out of the kitchen and shoots him a glare. “I made eggnog,” she says, pointing to the fridge, “and that’s all you’re allowed to do in here, got it?” 

“That just seems like a bad idea,” Archie sighs, dragging his hand through his hair, “you’re gonna let me drink spiked ‘nog all day and not eat anything? And then our  _ mothers  _ are going to come over?” He shakes his head, chuckling and pouring himself a glass of the eggnog, holding it up to her in a cheers motion before taking a long sip. 

“Take this,” Betty slides her engagement ring off her finger and sets it in Archie’s palm, “and put it somewhere safe, okay? I don’t want to lose it.”

_ “Lose  _ it?” Archie narrows his brows at her. “Where...babe,” he chokes out a laugh, trying to keep himself steady, “babe, where did you think you were going to  _ los-,” _

“Out, Arch,” Betty whines, pointing towards their living room, “go watch tv or something. Put on hockey, or whatever.”

Archie shuts his eyes and shakes his head, slipping the engagement ring into his pocket and settling himself on the couch. He figures he’ll need to be close by – at least close enough to grab the fire extinguisher, at some point.

Things seem to be going smoothly through Archie’s first and second glasses of eggnog, which are pleasantly spiked with bourbon and have him in a happy, giggly sort of mood. After his second glass is empty, he glances over at the presents they’d left out under the tree from the morning – Betty had bought him a new guitar stand and an amp that he’d immediately plugged in to mess around with – and then peeks over into the kitchen, smiling at the pinched, annoyed look on Betty’s face. He makes his way over, sliding onto one of the barstools they have set up at the counter and leaning his elbows on the granite countertop. “How’s it goin’, baby?”

Betty snaps her head up at him, and he swears she’s about to snarl. “Fine,” she snaps, “what are you doing in here?”

“Watchin’,” he chuckles, grinning at her. He tilts his head. “You sure you don’t want my help? I won’t tell anyone.” 

“Yes, I’m sure, Archie,” Betty sighs, her voice thin. “I’m  _ fine.” _

“Alright,” he shrugs, “if you say so. I mean...I kinda think cooking together is sexy, but,” he smirks at her, leaning back in his chair, “if you’re fine with doin’ it on your own, I get it.”

“Arch,” she whines, shaking her head, “this isn’t  _ sexy,  _ I put my hand  _ inside  _ of a turkey earlier. Like, more than once.”

“Sexy,” Archie shrugs, sliding off the barstool and moving over to the fridge. “D’you want some of this eggnog? M’thinking it might help,” he chuckles, “relax you a little, you know?”

“Do you really want me drunk and  _ cooking?”  _ Betty sighs, moving back to the stovetop and stirring something in a pot. 

Archie laughs, shaking his head. “No, no, you’re right. S’a scarier thought than just the cooking thing.” He pours himself a third glass, grabbing a container of leftover pasta as well. He sets himself up at the counter with his pasta and a fork, not bothering to heat it up and digging in, humming in enjoyment as he eats. “Did you know m’kind of an excellent chef, Betts?”

“I’ve heard,” Betty grumbles, the stove hissing in clear annoyance as something boils over into the open flame. 

“Turn that down, baby,” he mumbles, his mouth full of food. 

“Arch, why are you  _ eating _ right now,” she sighs, turning the stove down and then turning to him, her arms folded, “when we’re gonna eat in a few hours, and I’m,” she pouts, “you think my food’s going to suck so bad you have to eat in advance?”

Archie’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. He tries to swallow the pasta in his mouth, but there’s too much of it and he coughs when it gets stuck in his throat. “Betty,  _ no,”  _ he frowns, sliding off the barstool and walking around the island, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Your food’s going to be  _ fine,  _ and we’re all gonna like it. Promise,” he tips her face up, kissing her gently, “and maybe,” he mumbles against her lips, “if you’d let me help you a little, we could even have time to ourselves before people get here.” He raises his brows at her and laughs at the look on her face – annoyance, but a loving sort of annoyance...it’s a look he recognizes, especially when she’s cooking. “You know what I mean?”

“You’re not convincing me to have sex instead of watching this turkey, Arch,” she mumbles, leaning up and kissing him chastely, “sorry.”

“I could  _ try,  _ though,” he murmurs, dragging his thumb along her jaw gently, “I could just keep tryin’, and tryin’, and eventually – ‘cause you love me and stuff – I bet I could probably get you to give up on that bird once and for all.” 

“Not,” she mumbles, leaning up close to his ear, “a chance.”

Archie sighs, squeezing her waist and kissing her forehead. “Spoken like a true chef,” he grins, then makes his way back around the counter and slips back into his chair, grabbing his fork and reaching for the pasta again. “I’m eating because you told me to get  _ drunk  _ at 10 in the morning, by the way,” he mutters, raising his glass of eggnog to her and taking another sip, “‘cause if my mom walks in here and I’m fucked up, she’s going to ground me.”

“We’re practically thirty,” Betty laughs, glancing at him over her shoulder and rolling her eyes. 

Archie shrugs, shaking his head, “Doesn’t matter, she’ll still do it.”

“Are you sure you’re not talking about my mom?” Betty chuckles, putting a lid on a large pot and making her way over to the fridge, a printed out recipe in her hand. 

“Maybe they’d  _ both  _ ground me,” he muses, chewing thoughtfully. He ignores Betty’s soft groan, smiling when it turns into laughter as she gathers what she needs for – he hopes – her cookies. “It smells relatively normal, Betts,” he grins, watching as she nearly drops a few sticks of butter on the ground, “I’m kind of impressed.”

“Don’t you dare jinx me, Andrews,” she mutters, but shoots him a soft smile. “I’m  _ trying,  _ alright?”

“You look good when you’re trying,” he shrugs, putting the lid back on the container of pasta and taking a long sip of his drink. “I mean, you look good all the time, but you look  _ particularly  _ good when you’re trying.”

“Alright,” she rolls her eyes, grabbing the container from his hands and waving him away with her free hand, “why don’t you go lay on the couch for a few, hmm? Try to sleep off some of that alcohol so you don’t get grounded?”

Archie laughs, but grabs his glass and listens, heading into the living room and flopping down onto the couch. He puts on a long YouTube stream of a Yule Log and downs the rest of his eggnog, setting the empty cup on their coffee table and letting himself roll into the couch a bit, feeling his eyelids getting heavy almost immediately. 

His last thought before he passes out is alarming, but he can’t quite catch it before it makes its way into his brain: nothing could  _ really _ go wrong, could it?

He wakes up to smoke pouring into the living room, and the sound of Betty coughing in the kitchen. Archie jumps up from the couch, making his way into the kitchen and pulling Betty away from the stove, then grabbing the fire extinguisher from the wall and dislodging the pin. “Don’t,” Betty coughs, “don’t spray my turkey, Arch.” 

Archie ignores her, spraying the extinguisher in the general direction of the stove and then fanning the smoke out of the air, peeking over his shoulder at Betty. “Are you okay, Betts?” He sees her standing behind him, a frown on her lips. “What the fuck happened?”

He looks down at the oven, door still open, the turkey burnt to a crisp with white fire extinguisher powder peppered over the top. On the oven rack above, Betty’s cookies are also scorched – little blackened snowmen stare back at him pitifully. Betty coughs, and he can tell she’s already got tears in her eyes. “I don’t know,” she sighs, and Archie sets down the extinguisher, moving over to her and pulling her into his arms. “I looked away for like  _ one  _ second and it was just...on fire?”

“Betts,” he kisses the top of her head, shaking his own, “stuff happens, it’s,” he hears her sniffle and he lets out a sigh, rubbing her back. “Did you put anything else in there?”

“The recipe said something about,” she takes a shaky breath. “About basting with some kind of oil? So I,” she shrugs, “I don’t know, I did that.”

Archie peeks over at the oven, and he can see oil splattered on the floor and the oven door. He shakes his head, pressing his face into her hair. “No oil, babe,” he mumbles, “no oil in the oven like that. Not when it can splatter near an open flame.”

Betty sighs, and he pulls her in closer to him. “It’s all  _ ruined,  _ though.”

“Your mom’s bringing a ham,” he sighs, and Betty goes rigid. He’d been instructed not to tell her, but he couldn’t just let her think she’d ruined  _ everything  _ when there was, in fact, a backup plan. “I told her not to – I told her we wouldn’t eat it, but she insisted she was already making one, and so...just in  _ case,  _ she,” he tilts Betty’s face up, “she just wanted to make sure we had something to eat.”

“You all thought I was going to fuck up,” Betty frowns, and Archie shakes his head.

“I didn’t,” he gives her as earnest a look as he can, “I  _ really  _ didn’t, Betts. I promise.” He reaches into his pocket and holds out her engagement ring, “Swear on the ring, I didn’t. I don’t even  _ like  _ ham.”

Betty presses her face into his chest, letting out a slow sigh as she lets him slip the engagement ring back onto her finger. “We’re eating leftovers,” she mumbles, peeking over her shoulder at the clock on the stove and then pouting up at him, “and m’taking you up on that whole thing where you try to convince me to have sex instead of cooking.”

“I still have to convince you?” He lets go of her, moving towards the fridge and filling them both cups of eggnog, holding one out to her and taking a slow sip. Betty frowns at him, then turns on her heel and makes her way towards the stairs, swaying her hips in a way he can tell is purposeful.

“Something’s gotta make me feel better about nearly burning down our house, Arch,” she calls over her shoulder.

Archie makes sure all the burners are off and that the oven is closed before he follows her. She still can’t cook, but she can make a mean spiked eggnog and is the best fiancée, regardless of how many fires she starts.

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bettycooopers) or [tumblr](https://bettycooopers.tumblr.com) if you feel like watching me break down in real time!


End file.
